The Archeress
by Barley Shadow
Summary: Ichabod Crane acquires a maid, is it wise? What will she bring to the quiet town where he now lives? After weeks of her companionship, does he even know who she is? (Complete.)
1. Introduction by Ichabod Crane

Introduction by Ichabod Crane

It is the year 1805. It has been three years since Katrina left, and I miss her everyday. I do not believe I will find another that cares for my heart as much as she did.

And it has been nearly one year since I left New York, for good. In my retirement I moved to somewhere not unlike Sleepy Hollow, where I first met Katrina, and young Masbeth, who I still know. He is following in my footsteps, solving and studying crime in New York.

The movement of science over the past few years has been fascinating, living in such a remote location now, Masbeth keeps me up to date with science and current affairs from the city.

I have recently acquired a maid, I believe she is 20 and to arrive today. I have not previously had a maid, but I think it will be nice not to have to clean the entire house by myself, and her company will be welcomed.


	2. Chapter One: Merry Fellon

Good morning fellow peoplings! Here we go, Sleepy Hollow fanfic, for your enjoyment. Oh yeah, disclaimer. Um, I don't own Sleepy Hollow, the town itself, any of the people there, I'd just like to say hello Claire who gave me the inspiration for this story. Hello. I'm into hard reading writing at the minute because I've nearly finished Dracula and it's taken me weeks and weeks, so hopefully this is a challenging read, but not to hard. Must get back to Dracula, Mina's a vampire and Renfield's died and there's a box missing and its all very exciting. Enjoy.

PS: I think I screwed up the numbering for the chapters for this story, but I think it's sorted out now.

Chapter One: Merry Fellon

I stand in front of a small door, the entrance to a large house. I knock politely and shift my bag from one hand to the other. After a few moments a man opens the door. A pale faced man, dressed in black, making him appear even paler, also with dark hair and featured eyes. I feel they will either hold great comfort, or inflict great pain.

"Mr. Crane?" I inquire.

"Yes."

"I am the new maid, my name is Claire Archer," I introduce myself. He opens the door further.

"Miss. Archer, please, come in." I enter the house, it is a grand house, much larger than one would imagine judging by the size of the front door. The stairs are directly behind the door, with passageways leading off to the left, right and right forward. Like its owner, or occupier, the house is dark, and holds a mysterious air, as if something here was disturbed. I soon bury these thoughts and smile at my new employer.

"I will show you to your room, Miss. Archer," he invites. He leads the way up the stairs, and to the left, into a large room. It is quite clearly a guest bedroom, and I am unsure why he has directed me here.

"But Mr. Crane, this is a guest bedroom," I protest.

"Yes, Miss. Archer, I seldom have guests residing here, so there is little point in wasting this perfectly adequate room, and it seems, to me, much more pleasant than the servants quarters," he explains.

"If you are sure Mr. Crane, please, call me Claire."

"Yes, well, Claire, I shall leave you to unpack your belongings, and get a feel for the house," he backs out of the door, closing it behind him. I slowly turn to face the double bed, this was more than I had imagined, and much more than I could have hoped for. I place my bag on the bed and open it, taking out a plain magnolia colored dress and folding it, placing it on the table, and continue to do so until all my clothes and belongings occupy the small, round table. After a while, a knock sounds at the door, and Mr. Crane opens it.

"Miss., Claire dinner is served," he announces. Again I am unsure what his speech is meant to imply. I walk to him.

"Mr. Crane," I begin. "I am here under the assumption that I am to be employed by yourself as a servant, and I am somewhat confused by how you treat me."

"Have I treated you in any way you dislike, Miss. Archer?"

"No, not at all, Mr. Crane, but my previous employers have not offered me the guest bedroom and have not served dinner before."

"Miss. Archer, this is a big house I live in by myself. It takes a lot of work to keep it in good order, and it can feel terribly empty. I would like to think that I can look upon you not just as a servant, but as a companion, and I will enjoy your company. Can I look upon you as a companion?"

"Of course Mr. Crane," I say.

"Please, call me Ichabod," he says, with a small smile, it may have been small, but it lit up his whole face, becoming much more lively and colored.

"Then you must stop calling me Miss. Archer, companion's have the privilege to address each other with forenames."

"Of course, Claire." We walk down the stairs, and Ichabod guides me to the dining room, where there is a sizeable feast laid out.

"You cook, Ichabod?" I ask.

"Yes, although not as well as I may like, and mostly fish. I hope you like fish?"

"I do." I sit down at one end of the table, Ichabod at the other. His cheeks have a much more rouged color in the candle light, and I feel tempted to ask about his life, I know that it holds great sadness, that I can see in his eyes, those eyes that hold great comfort. I do not realize that I am looking directly into them, nor that he is studying my eyes.

"Claire?" he asks.

"Mr. Crane, I apologise, I did not realize I was staring," I humbly lower my eyes, and my fork.

"On the contrary, if I had known it would have broken your concentration I would not have distracted you," he smiles again and put his fork to his mouth. To add to the confusion this person was having upon me, this last statement concerns me the most. Does he want me to look into his eyes? They are the most beautiful feature of his face, which is now much more soft than when I first laid eyes on it. And yet I still wonder, even with his explanation of companionship, why I am here, what he wants from me. I decide to wait until our relationship deepens and I know what he wants, he is a very mysterious character, as I am sure that he would not need for a maid to be a companion, so I do again wonder why I am here. Sitting in this beautiful dining room, across from one of the most fascinating men I have ever thought to meet, why does he fascinate me so? Maybe it is because he can see I am inquisitive, and I want to know him further, maybe he has never had servants before, I do not know.

The village is called Merry Fellon, it is quaint, and the people seem nice, I am sure there is someone here who can help me. After cleaning Mr. Crane's house, I decided to visit the church, where I lit a candle for my mother, as she is, indeed, the reason for me coming to Merry Fellon. I let my dark hair fall to my shoulders as I kneel in prayer. After a while, the father of the church comes to me, Father Samuell. He will be my first choice.


	3. Chapter Two: Miss Archer

Chapter Two: Miss Archer

Miss Archer seems to me, a respectable person. She happies herself with her work, as indeed, I came downstairs this morning to a clean house, and she does not seem the type of person to cause trouble about the village. Even now she is at the church in prayer for her recently deceased mother, I know little about this, and do not feel to ask. She seems, also, to be fascinated by science, the ways in which poisons are hidden, evidence collected and how guilty party's go about trying to conceal themselves from the law. I have not told her about my experience in Sleepy Hollow, that is part of my history, I would like to forget.

And now, she has returned from church. I see she is weeping, so I take her in my arms in a comforting hold.

"Is it your mother? Claire?" I ask.

"Yes, Mr. Crane. I miss her so terribly. I never knew her for most of my life, but when I did I loved her like no other, and it pains me greatly to know she is gone," she replies.

"Come, come."

"I am sorry, Mr. Crane, you must think me silly," she says, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "I have work to do." She pulls from my hold and walks into the kitchen. I do not like seeing her so upset. The loss of her mother must be a terrible thing to her, like it was to me.

"Miss. Archer?" I ask, following her into the kitchen. She turns around. "I know what it is like to lose a mother. If you would ever like to talk, I would understand."

"Mr. Crane," she begins. But I can not carry on letting her use my full title.

"Ichabod," I insist.

"When did your mother pass away?" I walk to her, and hold her again, in part for her eyes began to weep tears and partly because I felt them behind my own eyes.

"When I was young, she was a very loving, gentle person, with great power. It was for her power she was killed. She was accused of witchcraft and executed." My own tears fall onto her dark hair and I hold her tighter.

"Ichabod, I am so sorry," she says, fresh tears appearing in her eyes.

"It's alright," I reply. And it is. There is always heartache when someone you love leaves you, both my mother and Katrina had done so, although under different circumstances, and part of me always longs for them, and part of me knows to let them go, and celebrate what I have now.

Soon, the delicious smell of chicken and lemon is coming from the kitchen, I had been writing in the study, but could not resist to enter the kitchen. Claire is at the sink, washing I assume, while a steaming chicken rests on the middle of the table, surrounded by vegetables even I knew not we had. Claire wipes her hands, and then joins me at the table.

"I hope you like chicken?" she asks, and I nod.

"One of my favorite birds," I reply. We both tuck in to the dinner, after which we retire to the drawing room.

"Ichabod," Claire gets my attention. "What do you do to sustain a house like this?"

"Well, previously to moving to Merry Fellon, I lived in New York City, where I was a constable, investigating scenes of crime."

"Why did you leave?" she asks.

"The woman I loved left me. At the moment it is a difficult subject."

"Oh, Ichabod. I do apologize, I never meant to stir bad memories, I am sorry."

"It is nothing. What of your past?"

"I worked for a family as a maid since I was very young." I can sense this is a difficult subject also. "I think I shall retire to bed," she announces. I agree and follow her up towards her room, but continue until my own.

I awake the following morning to Claire knocking at my door. I allow her to enter and she brings in some breakfast on a tray. She has clearly been up for hours as she looks pristine.

"I do not expect this, Claire. You are an angel," I thank her, beginning on my breakfast. She asks where the nearest apocathery is. I ask her why she would like to know such a fact as she sits down at the foot of my bed.

"Because I need something to poison the rats."

"Rats?"

"Yes, you must be walking about with your eyes closed not to see them." I tell her I will stop at the apocathery myself as I return from some business out of Merry Fellon.

"I will be gone all day, so you will be in the house by yourself, and I shall dine out as well, so nothing need be prepared for my dinner, thank you."

That evening, I returned to Merry Fellon in uproar.


	4. Chapter Three: The First Victim

Chapter Three: The first victim

"It was so gruesomely done, Ichabod," I say to him. He is quickly gathering his things, his hat and his cane. "And a member of the parish too. Who would do such a thing?"

"A madman, Claire. I have studied murder cases before. Although, that was a little different," he drifts off, and I do not ask further.

By the time he returned to the Fellon the deed had been carried out. One member of the church parish had been murdered. It was, infact, one I had seen the day before, he had also refused a funeral service for my mother, as Father Samuell had. His body lay with the undertaker. Ichabod seemed rather interested in the details of the murder, as was I to a certain degree. We took to the street together, and walked with haste to the undertaker's.

"We believe he was knocked out first," says Mr. Fawcett, the undertaker. He shows Ichabod the body, but I cannot bear to look at it. I had seen the man only a day ago. "He was found, in a coffin, outside the church. Ever so odd an occurrence. What kind of killing do you think this is, Constable Crane?"

"Mr. Crane, Ichabod," replies Ichabod. "I do not know, I shall need to know more about the case, before I can distinguish any facts about the murderer."

"The murderer poisoned him, but he did not spill enough poison upon his lips to actually kill him. Then he nailed him inside a coffin, and put him outside the church. The coffin was discovered, when the villagers left church that afternoon. He was sly, the whole village was in that church, except you and Miss Archer here, who was at your house, and no one saw a soul about, we were all in prayer. Of course, I immediately checked here to see if it was one of my coffins, and I can say it was. There is one missing from the rear room of the building."

"You say the poison did not kill him? How do you know this?" Ichabod asks. Mr. Fawcett beckons Ichabod to the coffin. Carefully avoiding the body I also look towards the coffin.

"You see here, Mr. Crane?" asks Mr. Fawcett, pointing out to marks on the inside lid of the wooden coffin. "These are scratches, fingernail marks. Mr. Brinner was alive when the murderer put him in here. Obviously the first thing you would do if you woke up in a coffin is try and get out, and try he did. But he did not succeed. The murderer, knew he was alive. I think, that he knew he had not given Mr. Brinner enough poison to kill him, and put him in the coffin to prolong the death. He died from suffocation, not enough oxygen was he able to breathe. I do not think the murderer would have bothered with the coffin if he knew that Mr. Brinner was already dead. Unless it was some ritual killing, that the coffin meant something to the killer symbolically." Ichabod looks back to the body.

"Thank you, Mr. Fawcett. Will you be able to tell what it was that poisoned him?"

"Not necessarily, I will try for you Mr. Crane, but I cannot promise anything. I am not a doctor of medicine, although this poison was no medicine." Ichabod thanked the undertaker again and we left. I can tell he's thinking about this, thinking of every possibility.

"Ichabod?" I ask, daring to interrupt his thoughts, as we returned to the house.

"Claire, tomorrow I shall need to speak to everyone in the village. Someone must have seen something, someone must be the murderer, and in every murder case, the culprit slips. Somewhere, he will make a fatal error of judgement, and that is where we will catch him."

"We? Ichabod, I know you are accustomed to this somewhat, but I have never dealt with such things before."

"I apologize, I cannot expect you to accompany me. I will catch him," Ichabod says, as he steps into the house. "What did you see, today?"

"I've been cleaning nearly the whole day, I did sit down for a while to read, but I did not notice anything," I reply.

"Where did you sit?"

"Ichabod, I've been all over the house, none of the windows face the church, I didn't see anything. I sat in the library."

"Yes, I'm sorry. Well, I must rest, tomorrow will be an important day. Good night, Claire."

"Goodnight Ichabod."

The following day Ichabod is risen and out quickly, almost just after dawn. There is little I can do to help, so I busy myself in the house, I read, and prepare a supper, contemplated on Mr. Brinner's death, and then found solitude in the church to think. I had never been a particularly religious person, but after this the church seemed like a second home to me, I could sit, uninterrupted, and pray to God. Ichabod came into the church a little before dusk and began searching for clues, and talking to Father Samuell, I had done everything in my power to avoid him, after his refusal, although I know that I should not ignore God's servant, but I have never been particularly religious.

"Claire," Ichabod says, when he is done talking to the Father. I look up from my knelt position and lower my hands. "Are you ready to go home? It is not wise for you to walk unaccompanied in the growing dusk, especially at this present time." He offers me his arm, and I take it, rising, and we both walk towards the church door.

"What have you learnt today, Ichabod?" I ask him.

"Little," is his reply. "The most common path to take is to discover which people disliked the deceased, and therefore, who would have a motive."

"I must admit, Ichabod. I have never liked him," I say.

"You won't be, and aren't the only one," Ichabod replies.

"So, apart from me, who else would have had a motive?" I ask.

"There are a few people in the village, who Mr. Brinner's ancestors have had incident with. I shall be speaking to these people tomorrow. The easiest way to deduce a murderer, is to find a link between all subjects he has considered. Someone has killed a member of the church parish, for what reason we do not know. In my past experiences with this type of crime, the easier it is to find a murderer, when he has murdered more than one person."

"Do you think he will strike again?" I ask, concerned.

"Yes, I think he will."


	5. Chapter Four: Further Feelings

Chapter Four: Further feelings

We are in the drawing room, the best room to retire to after dinner. I sit on a chair with a book, next to Claire, also reading, she looks at me every few minutes, I can tell she knows I am not reading.

"What will you do now, Ichabod?" she asks of me.

"I shall need an alibi for every person in that church," I say. "I will draw up a list of every resident of Merry Fellon tomorrow, and then proceed to find out who everybody in the church saw. There must have been someone missing. Mr. Fawcett said everyone was in the church, he must have been mistaken, only a villager would know about the back room of the undertaker's. He must have had a great deal of strength, to put the victim into the coffin, and drag it to the church," this needs a lot of thought.

"Maybe he took the two separately, maybe he put the coffin outside the church and then the body inside it," Claire suggests.

"It is indeed a possibility," I put down my book and turn to her. I am about to speak, but I do not, and I leave the room. I return, a moment later with a paper bag and present it to Claire. "In all haste I forgot the treatment for the rats," I apologize. She takes the bag, inspects the contents and puts it to her side.

"Understandably," she says. "I found a little suitable poison, but now that is all gone. Thank you." I sit back down beside her, and for the first time in the few days I have known her, I study her face. Her features are a work of art, like a beautiful painting, she is not blemished. Her skin is so fair, and her eyes so soft.

"You are beautiful, Claire," I tell her. She looks up from her book and smiles. A smile that radiates beauty, youth and happiness, a smile that feels like it could make even the fiercest creature laugh, and rise the sun on even the most dismal morning.

"Thank you, Ichabod," she replies. I sense I have put both her and myself in a rather difficult position, and I am quiet, and so is she.

"Ichabod," she begins, a few minutes later. "You said you think he murderer will kill again. Is there anyone in the village who you think could be in danger?" This is a difficult question. We do need two murders to form a link, so we can discover the murderer's path.

"I would assume, maybe, someone from the church," I reply, in all honesty. "Although until we find out more, I don't think anyone is safe."

"Will you keep me safe, Ichabod?" she asks, moving closer to me.

"Of course, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, you will not come to harm," I reply.

"I'll keep you safe too." Does she know how I feel about her? Does she feel the same? I never thought I would be able to get over Katrina, definitely not so quickly. Do I want to take that risk again? Do I trust her? Yes, I do. But I trusted Katrina, and she left. We're not in New York now, Katrina left because there was so much to experience, so far to explore, so many new people to meet. We're in Merry Fellon, here there are no high rising blocks for miles, no new experiences, yet I am happy here, because Claire is here. I look down upon her, she is glancing at my lips, and then looking into my eyes. Those eyes. Those eyes capture my heart every time I look into them. I bend down and let my lips softly touch hers. We both hastily back away, unspeaking, and resolve to read our separate books.


	6. Chapter Five: Funeral Plans

Chapter Five: Funeral plans

Yesterday was a mistake. Both Ichabod and I realize it should never have happened, and we respect that. I am glad he has not mentioned it further today, and I shall not. I have to remember my place, I am employed by Mr. Crane and should not exploit that, although I was pleased when he asked for my companionship on our first day of meeting. I always feel more comfortable in the presence of someone who wants companionship, whether employer or acquaintance. Ichabod comes into the kitchen, where I am.

"Claire," he begins, a little formally. "I feel we must speak about yesterday's happenings." This was not what I wanted. I turn to face him. I am attracted to him, very much so, but he must know of why we can not be together. He must feel it too.

"Ichabod," I say, but he speaks.

"Claire, yesterday, something happened, some attachment passed between us, as you well know. I would just like to apologize, and clear the air, if the air between us has become too stuffy. And to ask you, if you feel it should have happened."

"Do you think it should not, Ichabod?" I ask. Say no, say no, I silently plead.

"Yes, I think it should not of happened, and I apologize for my part in it. I will take care not to let it happen again." He turns and leaves the kitchen, leaving me feeling somehow awkward. Although in my head I too, know it should not have been, but my heart tells me that the moment between us last night in the drawing room, was the best moment I have had in this house. Once all my duties had been performed, I left Ichabod to himself in the study, and retreated to my room, where I silently cried into my dress until I fell asleep.

The following morning was grey. There was no spark from Ichabod that I had hoped for the night before, that I thought time would bring, but it did not. He left early in the morning to speak to the villagers who were in the church on the fateful day of Mr. Brinner. I did not feel it was necessary for me to go, I was not to be recognized by anyone as there, because I knew, and Ichabod knew I was not. And I did not like to interfere with the work he was doing, a grand job such as his. But I did offer my services as a companion, when he returned, to talk.

"Did you discover anything, Ichabod?" I ask him.

"Yes, apart from you, there were many that disliked Mr. Brinner. He was not a friendly man, and because of his connections with the church no-one has said anything before. I myself did not get along smoothly with him, I have always believed he has had a very short temper, but he is, he was a member of the parish," he replies.

"Is it a possibility that the murderer was a member of the parish, or, in some way, connected to the church?" I ask.

"Claire, at this stage, everything is possible," he replies.

"When you said, that you would keep me safe, how did you mean it?" I ask, tentatively. He looks up at me, as if reading my eyes. He knows I want him.

"I meant that I will look after you as much as I can, because I care for my acquaintances and friends, and I will also take as much care with the other villagers as I possibly can." What did that mean? "Tomorrow is Mr. Brinner's funeral, I would like it very much if you accompanied me, if you feel able to cope with such a situation."

"I will accompany you, it's the least I can do for Mr. Brinner," I reply, not looking forward to the funeral at all, but I would pay my last respects. "Have you talked to Mr. Brinner's son?"

"Briefly, I intend to speak with him at the funeral tomorrow, if he feels able. I will ask to see his fathers will. I know from previous experience that will's are important in such cases, and can, unfortunately, stir a lot of bad memories, and reveal secrets hidden for a purpose, to save loved ones hurt," Ichabod explains. "I'll also be speaking to the mason, I believe he was the first to see the coffin, although the village soon followed him out of the church. Mr. Fawcett cannot distinguish the poison easily, he continues to try," Ichabod says, relaying the investigation to me.

With the unavoidable funeral in the morning, I have a horrible feeling that I really, really, would rather not go.


	7. Chapter Six: The Plot Thickens

Chapter Six: The plot thickens

"Mr. Hawson," I begin. The mason turns around atop the dreary cemetery, to talk to me. The small gathering of villagers is dispatching, and walking solemnly back down the hill, dressed in black, led my Master Brinner.

"Ichabod," Mr. Hawson replies. "Terrible business this."

"Yes, I agree," says I, as we too, turn and face down the hill.

"Must be awful for young Brinner there. Never knew my own father, have not to this day, could be dead for all I know. Besides, I do not think you are here to talk about such matters, how can I help you?"

"Well," I begin again, almost slipping down the hill, it slowly and softly begins to rain, not hard, but the mist is seen to have a gravitational pull about it. "I have heard that you were the first out of the church, the day, erm, the day. . ."

"Ah, yes," Mr. Hawson puts in. "But I didn't see anything," he adds, shaking his head. "He's damn clever. Knew we'd all be in the church, picked exactly the right moment. Except your young Miss Archer, she wasn't there, and Master Brinner I think. I don't recall seeing either of them there. But, we all thought it was a normal day, wouldn't have noticed anything if it hit us round the face. It is funny, if we were to know something was afoot, then we would all have been able to remember everything perfectly I dare say. Strange how your mind remembers things when there is an air of something about, is it not?"

"It is, Mr. Hawson," I try to keep up with him, and try to get my point across without offending the man in any way. "So, you say Master Brinner was not in the church?"

"No," Mr. Hawson replies, definitely. "Was not there. I remember turning to my wife and saying is it not odd that the Brinner's are not here? They are usually always at the church or with the parish, being such a strong religious family, which is a good trait in a family, I believe."

"So, aside from the absence of the Brinner's, you did not notice, any other odd occurrences, anyone else who was not in the church?" I ask.

"No, just Mr. Brinner, Master Brinner and Miss Archer, and, of course, you, Mr. Crane, but I believe you were out of town?"

"Yes."

"Awful thing to happen, especially when you were not about, being the one most likely to pick up on clues and deceptions, I suppose it is much more difficult to see things a while after the actual time, yes? Like, footsteps could be washed away by the rain, or the murderer could have returned for something he could have dropped, which would have been vital to anyone investigating." I get the distinct feeling that Mr. Hawson is getting caught up in other matters.

"Did you speak to Mr. Brinner, the day that, he was, killed?" I ask.

"Nope, didn't even see him all day, I did see Master Brinner later that day though, terribly upset he was, he was with his fathers body for most of the day, I believe, blames himself for letting such a thing happen, and for not being there when the, body, was discovered," rambled Mr. Hawson. "I saw Miss Archer, too. Before we were in the church, I think she'd just stepped outside for some air, she was a few paces from your house. She watched us go into the church, I didn't see her when we came out, I presumed she'd gone back inside."

"Right," I say, deep in thought. "Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Hawson, you have been of great assistance."

Later, I go to see Master Brinner, he is at his fathers house, sifting through some old belongings. I rap on the door and he opens it.

"Master Brinner, my deepest sympathies with you, I am so sorry about your loss," I began

"With all respect, Mr. Crane, that is wearing thin now, I have heard nothing but those lines nearly all week, and I would prefer it if people talked something else," says Master Brinner.

"Very well," I apologize. "I know this must be a difficult time for you, but I feel the need to ask you a few questions, you are not under suspicion, I merely would like to know a little, from you."

"Indeed, go ahead," offers Master Brinner, he continues to pack belongings into boxes as I speak.

"In cases such as this, I feel it is always necessary to produce a will, made out by the decea. . ., by your father. Is it possible to see his will?" I ask. Master Brinner turns, and searches on another table for it. He finds it, and hands it to me.

"I've been reading through it today, packing things for relatives." I read the will through.

"Your father left the entire estate to you, all monies, and greater possessions?" I ask.

"Yes," comes the reply. "There are only small trinkets and ornaments he wished for his sister and her family to have. Everything else is left to me."

"The will is dated 1784, how old would you have been then, sir?"

"1784," Master Brinner calculates in his head. "Nineteen, I believe, I was forty this year, my father sixty four this coming August."

"Is there any history of family feud?"

"No, not in Merry Fellon, there was a history between the Brinners and Pettineaths some years ago, they all left the village years before you moved here, Mr. Crane. They were quite close to the Mulberry family though, I suppose you could ask them about it if you needed any further information or whereabouts, although I doubt very much a Pettineath has been in Merry Fellon since the day that they left. And father has never been particularly friendly with the mason and his family, the Hawsons. He was not a very sociable person, Mr. Crane, although likeable, should the circumstances arise that one may conduct a conversation with him alone."

"I understand," I say. "And, may I ask, where were you, when Mr. Hawson found, the body of your father?"

"I was shooting in the woods with my dog, Sparrow. Mr. Crane," he says, suspiciously. "You are not suggesting that I killed my own father in such a way, to inherit his money, for he had very little. You should speak to the Hawsons if you want to further this investigation."

"Sir, all of the Hawson family were in the church, none of them could have killed your father," I explain.

"Then ask Miss Archer, she was not there, therefore, in your eyes she must be the culprit, dig deep enough and you will find a motive Mr. Crane. But do not come to me suspecting me of evil play when you can tell me what I am to tell you, because there is no point in repeating what we both already know." I am slightly confused by this comment, but do not let it interfere with my work. I thank Master Brinner for his assistance and bid him farewell.

A storm threatens to dash Merry Fellon as I step out of Master Brinner's house and walk back to my own. I know Claire will be there, waiting for me to return before she goes up to bed, and it is late. I make a mental note to apologize for my lateness.

The storm does hit Merry Fellon. After a restless few hours of sleep, I am awoken by the sound of the front door banging, and wind whistling through the downstairs rooms. I get out of bed, and descend the stairs to close the door. When I reach the hall I see Claire, already out of bed, and soaked to the skin with rain entering through the open door. She too has awoken to close the door, but the force of the wind is too much for her, and she appreciates my help. I take the open side of the door to push it closed, but before I do, something catches my eye and I suddenly abandon the door and it flies open, narrowly missing hitting Claire as I stand, almost frozen.

There is a coffin outside the church.


	8. Chapter Seven: Undertaker

Chapter Seven: Undertaker

A cock crows somewhere off to the distance, waking me from my slumber. I slowly remember the events from the previous night, Ichabod returning late, the storm, and the coffin. I immediately make my way to Ichabod's room, and knock on the door. I assume he is already up and investigating as there is no answer. I have my breakfast in the kitchen, and then, some minutes later I hear Ichabod coming down the stairs, and he enters the kitchen rubbing his head.

"Good morning, Claire," he addresses me and I reply.

"I assumed you had gone to investigate the happenings of last night," I say, pouring tea from a teapot. He takes a sip.

"Oh yes, last night, the coffin outside the church. I must go at once," he says, putting his tea down and leaving, to get dressed. I quickly finish my tea and knock on his bedroom door. He answers, inviting me to enter, and I do, he is finishing dressing in his usual black and I sit down on the end of his bed.

"Would you like me to come with you, Ichabod?" I ask. He looks at me.

"Only if you feel alright with the situation," he says. I do, I know he would rather be with someone when he sees the body and I feel almost prepared for it, after the previous time. I hasten to get dressed.

Outside the church the coffin is laying flat, as the other had been standing, but with the high winds last night this is understandable. As we walk down the street some other villagers stir, as it is just past dawn. As we get to the church a few people come out of their houses, but not a great many, although when the first see what has taken place it is not long before the whole village is awoken and standing by the church. Ichabod and myself as in the midst of the hustle.

"Who is it?" is nearly all that is heard from the gathering crowd, although people are calling out names of people they can not see, and occasionally I hear an 'it is not me, I am here' from someone. Ichabod waits patiently for the undertaker to appear, but when he does not, he and Father Samuell open the coffin and the whole village cranes to have a look. It is the undertaker, Mr. Fawcett. There are gasps from the crowd, and I notice someone fainting. Ichabod and Father Samuell immediately take the coffin and occupant to the undertakers, where there is such a work place to put the coffin. Once inside the undertakers, the doctor is called for and the village shut out. Father Samuell, Ichabod and I stand in the room, with the open coffin laying on the table. A knock comes at the door and we open it for the doctor. I do not spend too long with the body, and I sit in another room for a while, while the doctor and Ichabod inspect it. When they have completed their inspection, and are summarizing their finds I join them.

"Suffocation again, nail marks on the inside lid of the coffin. Poison on the lips, but a poor amount. Exactly the same as poor Mr. Brinner. I will take some skin from the lips and mouth and identify the poison, if you could find Mr. Fawcett's report of Mr. Brinner's death, I shall see if the poisons match. What do you think, Constable?" asks the doctor.

"It is most definitely the same murderer. Again, they knew the storm would have us all safely tucked inside our houses, there would be nobody out at such a time. But the link between Mr. Brinner and Mr. Fawcett, I am yet unsure about. Though there must be one. Father Samuell, with no undertaker and no one educated in that field in the village, can I assume that the body will be buried as it stands, as soon as possible?" asks Ichabod as the doctor takes a few flakes of skin from Mr. Fawcett's lips and tongue.

"Yes, we will arrange a funeral at once, is the body to be kept here?"

"Yes, although, speculation and intrigue will have captured the whole village, it would be best if we could bury the body some time tomorrow. Mr. Fawcett had no family, I understand?" asks Ichabod.

"None that anyone in the village knows of," replies the Father.

"Right. I shall ask my questions then, and hopefully ask the entire village before the day is out. But first I will ask you, did any of you see anything last night, anything out of the ordinary? And do you know of a possible connection between the two dead men?" Both men, doctor and Father shake their heads, implying no. Ichabod turns to me.

"And you did not see anything, Claire?"

"No, I was out of bed only a minute or two before you, and was so concerned with closing the door," I reply.

"Yes, of course. Well, Claire, I can not ask anything more from you. I must continue," and with that we both leave the body of the late Mr. Fawcett in his own rooms, with the doctor and Father. I leave Ichabod to return to the house, I only realize that I have not kept to my housekeeping situation since the murder of Mr. Brinner. Ichabod returns to the church, where the vast majority of villagers are, awaiting information.


	9. Chapter Eight: The Word of the Church

Chapter Eight: The word of the Church

As I record incidents relayed to me by the villagers in the church, Father Samuell comes to me, and says a grave is being buried at the present moment for Mr. Fawcett, next to Mr. Brinner, and that if I had taken all I needed from the body it could be buried at sundown, with my permission. I gave it, and told everyone of the funeral details. Friends were allowed into the undertakers to pay their last respects. As the church began to clear of people, I was left thinking, when Father Samuell sat next to me.

"It is terrible, to think that one of God's people could have done this to another," he says, and I agree. "It makes everyone think about death a little more, do you not think?" Again, I agree. "And how God brings life, and how He brings it to a close. I do feel sorry for Miss Archer in a way."

"Miss Archer?" I ask.

"Yes, has she not told you? She wants a burial for her mother. Although under somewhat suspicious circumstances. She told me, and Mr. Brinner I believe, that her mother has already been buried."

"Already buried?" I ask, thinking this queer.

"Yes, apparently her mother was buried without Miss Archer's permission in unhallowed ground, and she wants the body to be unearthed and buried with her permission in a church yard or cemetery. But I can not allow this. The church would highly disprove of exhuming a body for reburial, and I hope she understands this."

"I am sure she does," I reply, thinking it odd that Claire would want her mother buried twice. Although, I suppose I would, indeed, want similar actions to take place, should the deceased be my own mother, or any one of my closer relatives. I feel sorry for her, she must be distraught that the church does not allow such an act. I thank the Father for the information he has given me and hurry home to comfort her.

"Claire," I call as I enter the house later that day. She comes to me, she had obviously been cleaning as her attire shows. I invite her into the drawing room where we sit. "You did not tell me that Father Samuell had refused to bury your mother." She pauses for a moment.

"I did not want to bother you with such things at such a time," she replies. "You do have more than enough to be contending with at the present moment, do you not?" I smile.

"Indeed I do," I put my arms around her, comforting her. "But you must be distressed that the church will not allow such things, I am sorry I have not been here to comfort you." She puts her arm up to mine.

"That is alright, Ichabod. I am learning and coming to deal with the situation, nothing can be done." She rests her head against my shoulder. She is so close. I feel a desire within me to reach down and kiss her again, but I remember the situation previously and try to contain myself. I can not see her face, but I can tell that she is beginning to cry, and I stroke her hair, comfortingly.

"Ichabod," she says through sobs. "Before, when we kissed, did you feel nothing?" How do I reply to this? I must tell her the truth.

"No, I did not feel nothing." She breaks from my hold and looks up at me, her eyes blinking back tears, a little raw. I look back, and I can see she does feel the same, she slowly leans up towards me, and I down to her, and our lips meet. She lifts a hand and places it on the back of my neck, and I slowly bring my hands down to her waist.

We are lying on the chair in the drawing room, Claire's head is resting upon my chest, and rising and falling with my breath.

"Ichabod. Will you help me bury my mother?" she asks. I do not know what to say. She knows it is not possible, yet she still asks. And I feel ripped at having to break her heart and say no. But there is no way the church will allow such a thing, and that is the only way it is to be done.

"Claire," I begin, trying to think of what to say. "The church has refused, and I have no power over the church. I know it seems harsh, but Father Samuell was the only person who could have said he would. If he has declined, then it can not be done, although I would assist you in very way I could, were it possible." She makes no sound. I know she is upset that I have said no, but what further can I say? In this case, the word of the church is final, and the answer is negative.


	10. Chapter Nine: Borrowed Poison

Chapter Nine: Borrowed poison

I am beginning to lose hopein the matter. Last night Ichabod also refused to help me with the problems of my mother, and I do so yearn for them to be sorted, it would not take much. But the word of the church is final, Ichabod had said, and the word of the church was no. I can not argue anymore. I feel I must just let the matter rest, and hope my mother finds her way to heaven on her own, although I would so help if I were able to. I feel quite depressed the morning after. And I do not leave my room for some hours, I think Ichabod understands how I feel to some extent, he has not come to me, but I know his comfort is there should I require it.

The day proves long, and my actions are few, Ichabod comes and goes as he pleases, asking questions about poor Mr. Fawcett. Nearer the end of the day I rise, and complete a few menial tasks. As I am in the pantry, I see the glass bottle containing rat poison Ichabod had bought on the first few days of my arrival at Merry Fellon. The bottle is dirty, and I am sure that I did not leave it like that, so I take it down and wipe the neck. As I am doing so, I think to myself that it must have been a lot of poison I had used, as the bottle is not near full, and I do not remember using so much. The words of the doctor ring in my head and I stop wiping the bottle, wondering if he had determined what it had been that poisoned Mr. Fawcett, because it had not been what killed Mr. Brinner, if my memory serves me correctly. I place the bottle down, and go to the door, looking out to see if I could see Ichabod. I could not. I leave the bottle in the pantry, still pondering whether it could have been rat poison which killed the man.

Some hours later, Ichabod did return, and before I could speak he told me that the doctor did think he knew what was the blame.

"Rat poison?" I ask. He looks at me, a little stunned.

"Yes," he replies. "How did you know?" I lead him to the pantry where I show him the bottle.

"You bought this to kill the rats with, do you remember?"

"I do."

"When I saw it this morning in the pantry the neck was filthy with dry poison and dust, and I do not remember leaving it so. There is also far too much gone than I would have used to kill rats. What do you think?"

"You have wiped the bottle, I see?"

"Yes, for I did not suspect anything until I thought about it later," I reply. "Do you think the murderer could have come into the house, and taken poison from this bottle?"

"It is a possibility," replies Ichabod.

"But how would he have known we would have had poison in the house, and in the pantry?" I ask.

"Most houses will have some form of poison in them, I suspect he merely used the first he found in our house. But this means, that he would have had to come into our house before Mr. Fawcett was found, that leaves him five days since Mr. Brinner's death."

"You think he obtained this potion not before Mr. Brinner's death?" I ask him, this is all very confusing, at what time would a man have been able to get into Ichabod's house? I believe there must have been only once or twice in the five days when neither of us were inside, I had been to the church and Ichabod had been out investigating, but there had always been someone at the house usually.

"Yes, otherwise he would not have changed poisons, it would have been much simpler for him to use just one, the first must have run out before he could get more, and he also had the need to kill Mr. Fawcett, before he could get more of the poison so he used a different one. Do you think?"

"I do understand what you are saying," I reply. "I can also see there would be reason for you to suspect me, Ichabod." He looks at me, and puts an arm around me.

"I do not suspect you, Claire, this man is killing cruelly. And I do not think a woman would have sufficient strength in her arms to carry the body, or the coffin."

"I am glad you do not suspect me. I had been worried," he offers me a reassuring smile. "I must still talk to the Hawson's, I must investigate a family by the name of Pettineath. It is unfortunate, that Mr. Fawcett had no relatives to be known of, it is hard to find a motive. The villagers all seem more than happy to help me with my inquiries, and it is a great help, although I feel someone is not telling the whole truth."

"I am sure you will catch him, Ichabod. Just give yourself time and have confidence in yourself."


	11. Chapter Ten: The Chapter of Most Discove...

_**A/N: **Thank you for your reviews pumpkinpuss, you made me smile! Of course, other things make me smile too, like ice-cream, mini-digital cameras on keyrings (which I can't find anywhere, someone help me out here) and drivers licenses, which I sent off for today. But your review made me happy, I am now a happy girl, smile._

Chapter Ten: The chapter of most discovery

In the morning I take the poison to the doctor to confirm if it is, or if it is not, the poison used to kill Mr. Fawcett. He tells me that as far as he can see into the matter, it is, and we should be looking for someone with similar poison, or access to the Crane household. I know that only Claire and myself have keys to the house. The doctor also is able to inform me, that the poison used by the murderer to kill Mr. Brinner was a rat poison, although not the same. After thanking the doctor and leaving him, I begin to think about the possibility that the poison was changed because there was no poison at my own house. If the murderer had found no poison there. Wait, there was poison at the house, Claire had said she found a little suitable poison but now that is all gone. So, there was poison at the house, and the murderer took some, and then Claire finished it. Was that the same poison that killed Mr. Brinner? It has been six days since the first death, any house waste would not be in the village. I must find that bottle.

Back in the house I ask Claire what kind of poison she found. Obligingly she tells me, and I inform her about my suspicions that the murderer had always used poisons from within my house. She agrees with my theory, and I leave her, to head to the place where the house waste was put, out of town.

As I reach my destination I am overcome by the awful smell of rotting meat and other household waste. There is the distinct smell of fatty smoke in the air which clings to one like a silk. I become to realize, that this search may take a time. I begin to dig my way through debris and litters, finding nothing but bones and waste, and coming upon holes with more buried. It is not a nice job, but I do need to find the bottle used to contain the poison used to kill Mr. Brinner.

After a good few hours search, I have a small collection of glass bottles that would have been suitable, to return to the house and ask Claire about.


	12. Chapter Eleven: My Pleas Fall on Deaf Ea...

_**A/N: ** I know what you mean pumpkinpuss, Ichabod would be incredibly smelly and would indeed need a bath after that, but for Claire to bath him? That would be improper! (Although I know the Claire she's named after would love to ;)) So, on with the story!_

Chapter Eleven: My pleas fall on deaf ears

I take to the streets before Ichabod returns, to ask Father Samuell one last time to change his mind about his decision. One last chance to let me have the thing I crave more than any other. I step into the church, it is not dark yet, and I take off my hood. I see Father Samuell by the altar, moving and preparing things for the service tomorrow.

"Father Samuell," I state. He turns and looks at me, I can see he is frustrated with my constant questioning, but he must realize how important this is to me! He does not, however, vocalize his frustration, and I know it takes every effort from him, but he must not, he is God's servant, and he knows he must be understanding and comforting to all he can. But he has already twice refused me, and there is only a tiny spark of hope left inside me, and part of me knows he will refuse again.

"Good evening, child," he replies, going back to preparing the altar. I walk up to him and stand beside him.

"Father Samuell, I know you have refused me of a funeral for my mother before. But please, I ask you this final time, and I will not again. Please reconsider, it would mean so much to me, and I know that it would mean to you for knowing you had helped. It would not take much on your part, only the service. Please." Father Samuell turns to me, and says the words he has said twice before.

"Miss Archer, I can not go against the church, the church is my life, my livelihood and my home. My belief, you can believe all that you will, but I am nowhere without mine. God shows me the path, and He does you too. Trust God when He says that what you ask of can not be done, none of us should defy God to the point that we do something such as what you suggest. I know this must be a difficult time for you, what with the passing of your mother, and hearing this, but really, nothing can be done. We can just let her soul rest, and hope that she finds her own way to God's door, which I am certain she will if she did not chose her current place of burial. I understand your pain."

"You know nothing of my pain," I reply. "I had hoped you would reconsider, and I felt I needed to give you one last chance to do my will. But you will not. Therefore I will go, I do not know when I shall next see you again, Father. I can not even say if it will be on this earth, or with God on the next one."

"Miss Archer. . ." I bid the Father farewell, and turn out of the church.


	13. Chapter Twelve: Links

_**A/N: **Here it is. The penultimate chapter, scary as that seems. If you haven't worked everything out, then I think it's pretty obvious here. One chapter left!_

_xx_

Chapter Twelve: Links

It is dark as I return to the house. At home, Claire identifies one bottle as that she had seen recently, and discarded because of its empty state, she then retires to bed.

I believe it extremely odd, and can not exactly distinguish the link between the two murdered persons. Firstly, Mr. Brinner, a member of the parish church, and Mr. Fawcett, the local undertaker. Both are male, both do not have a partner. Both are accustomed to death in some way, Mr. Fawcett, obviously being the undertaker, and Mr. Brinner, would have been able to conduct a funeral. A funeral, death, in which both persons would be present. This is the finest link I've thought of, the most detailed motive and explanation so far. But would Mr. Brinner have been able to conduct the funeral ceremony? I must ask Father Samuell. I will see him about it straight away tomorrow. Funerals. Such a sad, yet simple thing, could this possibly be the motive behind the murders? Could the death of a loved one be the spark to set off a murderer on his spree? It is hard to believe, that such sadness and pain could present more grief, and for the parties involved to not learn from them, and celebrate life, not take it away. But who has lost a loved one?

Claire is searching for reburial for her mother. Funeral. Mr. Brinner refused her, I know this as fact. I take a sheet of paper and pen from my writing things and begin to jot down notes, names, and times. At the top of my page are the words Brinner and Fawcett, with their occupations under the names respectively, there is also the word Claire written, death, and funeral refusal. Pettineath is also written, with Hawson and poison. But Claire could not carry out such a deed. Not the sweet, beautiful Claire I know, pining after her mother, spending so much time praying in the church and hoping for good. I must not let this suspicion avert me from her though. I can not let personal knowledge get in the way of discovering this murderer. I try to put Claire into the murdering scenario, strictly to rule her out of my list of suspects, but the scenario works somewhat differently from planned.

"Claire comes to the village, Mr. Brinner refuses to grant her mother a funeral, she kills him with the little suitable poison in the house, asking me to buy more, which I do. Fawcett would then had refused funeral also, she kills him with the new poison which is proved the correct one. The Pettineaths do not come into the bargain, nor the Hawsons." I am getting ahead of myself, did I not previously question whether Mr. Brinner was linked with the funeral chain at all? And if Mr. Fawcett, such a person as an undertaker, would have had input because of his occupation, I do not believe that an undertaker could have any input at all, without the obvious input of the actual burial itself. But Claire is searching for a service, one that he would not have been able to provide. Still, this does tie with my theory of all victims being connected to death in some way. Before I act on my suspicions though, I must clarify these with Father Samuell. Father Samuell. Had he not refused Claire's request also? He had, he himself had told me so. Then he is the next victim. Claire is asleep, he can not come to harm tonight. Is she asleep? When will she kill next? Ichabod, you do not yet know for certain she is the killer, you must first see Father Samuell! No. First I will check to see if Claire is in bed.

She is not! I hastily pull on my over clothes and open the door to run to the Father's house. I do not reach it, nor do I reach the church, Father Samuell is outside, I am too late.


	14. Chapter Thirteen: The Letter

_**A/N: ** This is it, guys! The last chapter, thank you to my reviewer, pumpkinpuss. I was thinking earlier, whats the difference between a reviewer, and a reviewee? Anyway, I know I'm leaving this story pretty open, but I'm not sure if I'm gonna write another one, if I get thousand of reviews bombard me, telling me to write more then I probably will, or I might. Or I might anyway, but it won't be for a while. So enjoy the last chapter, mwahahahahaha!!!!!_

Chapter Thirteen: The letter

Dear Ichabod,

I know by now you will have realized me as the killer in Merry Fellon. I have therefore packed my things and left. I apologize that I leave you without a maid or companion.

As always in letter such as this, it is customary for the murderer to explain all that has happened, feelings and motives. I believe you know most of these things already, but I will tell you thus you know everything.

My mother, lately deceased, did not carry the name Archer as I do. She had married, I believe she married a man named Van Tassell. He was wealthy, and she had the title of Lady Van Tassell when they were brought together in matrimony. She is buried under the Tree of the Dead in a village called Sleepy Hollow, I do not know how familiar you are with local distances. I do not know, exactly, why she is buried there, and I fear I will never know.

I am not a bad person, Ichabod. You must know this. All I wanted was a decent service and funeral for the mother that I did not know. It was awful for me to attend Mr. Brinner's funeral that day with you, when I knew that there could not be such a time for me and my mother. But I do not regret what I have done, I believe I have done right, by myself and by my mother.

I do, I did have true feelings for you, honest ones. And part of me still loves you, it breaks my heart to know that I have left you after knowing your past with Katrina. Yet I also feel I have done right in the situation, and hope you understand, and I hope you forgive me more than Katrina, for my reason for leaving is true.

With respect to Mr. Brinner, Mr. Fawcett and Father Samuell. Mr. Brinner was the first to refuse me a service, I had not approached the Father as of that time. He did wrong by his refusal, and he needed to be punished for his wrong deed. I had been told my mother had been buried alive, I know this seems improper and impossible, and I know the possibility of it being purely a rumor. But Mr. Brinner deserved to go through what my mother had, and he was only awake towards the end. You note I carefully chose the time when you were out of town, and the rest of the community in the church, I am particulary pleased with that. It seemed so energizing that I could have been caught at any time, and yet, as the situation unfolds, I have not been caught at all.

Mr. Fawcett's case was similar, he did not deny me a service, for he could no grant one as he is not a member of the church. But he did refuse to help me with my search for rest for my mother. And so he had to go. Again, note his time of death. At night, during that awful storm. I am afraid the storm got me quite restless, and I was wet to the bone on that night. It was hard for me to believe you did not suspect me, when you caught me coming home. But luckily for me, I was able to throw you off by trying to close the door. It very nearly ended there.

And Father Samuell. I gave him more chance. And indeed, as you will know by now I have seen him tonight, and shall not see him now until we meet in heaven. I told him that today. And he did seem genuinely sorry for my loss, even though frustrated by my persistance at trying to achieve my goal.

I knew when you returned today with the empty bottle of poison you would suspect me, for I had access to both poisons proved as the method of killing. And I knew it would not take you long to discover my motive, and come for me. But I could not let that happen, and there was one last person left, Father Samuell. I trust you inspected my bedroom before leaving the house, am I correct? And you would have found me not there, for I climbed through the window the moment I reached the room. I suppose I can only be thankful that you did not connect the thoughts quicker, but you did give me plenty of time to kill poor Father Samuell and return to plant my note here. So, in a way, it is your own slow thought that killed the Father, for if you had been quicker I would not have had the time, you would not have caught me I know, but Samuell would still be alive.

However, there is one more person that refused me help, a person who I did not have the chance to kill. I beg your pardon, I rephrase that, a person who I did not get round to kill. And that person is you, Ichabod Crane. But do not worry, I will come back for you.

Claire Archer.

_**A/N: **So there it is. Last chapters are always incredibly sad for me, but I'll see you all soon._

_Silver Bell_

_xx_


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